


Failure: A Love Story

by madzroze



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Dark Comedy, Death, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madzroze/pseuds/madzroze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura was the first of the Fail children to die, followed soon after by her siblings</p>
<p>Cora Claire</p>
<p>and Derek Fail.</p>
<p>In that order.</p>
<p>Causes of death were:</p>
<p>Blunt Object</p>
<p>Disappearance</p>
<p>and Consumption.</p>
<p>Also in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Laura was the first of the Fail children to die, followed soon after by her siblings

 

Cora Claire

 

and Derek Fail.

 

In that order.

 

Causes of death were:

 

Blunt Object

 

Disappearance

 

and Consumption.

 

Also in that order.

 

     Of course, plenty of other Fails had died long before Laura did. Why, her own parents, Henry and Talia Fail, drowned in the Chicago River some thirteen years back, casualties of the _Eastland_ Riverboat disaster. Oh, they weren't _on_ the _Eastland_. No. They were in a brand new _Stutz Bearcat_ rattling east along South Water Street toward the Ohio Street Beach where their middlest daughter, Cora Claire Fail, was about to participate in an otherwise all male diving competition.

     

     As they passed the Old Chicago Board of Trade to their right, hundreds of pleasure-seeking picnickers boarded the _Eastland_ to their left. The air was busy with hubbub and merriment. An unseen gramophone pleaded with the passengers:

 

“ _Let me call you "Sweetheart," I'm in love with you._

_Let me hear you whisper that you love me too._

_Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true._

_Let me call you "Sweetheart," I'm in love with you.”_

 

     On street level, the only passenger in the brand new _Stutz Bearcat_ , Talia Fail, was in peak spirits, twisting this way and that to catch all the excitement around her. The smoke-filled summer air smelled almost sweet, curling around her nostrils, and she thought to herself,

 

     “This is living. This is absolutely living.” Tapping his arm playfully, she was about to remark as much to her husband, Henry, when --

 

     “I am in _no mood!”_

 

     The brand new _Stutz Bearcat_ had not been his idea.

 

     “We certainly didn't need a car to come to America,” he’d tried reasoning with his wife, pointedly plucking her hand from his arm, “and we don’t need one to stay here.”

 

     But Talia had already made up her mind. They absolutely _required_ the brand new _Stutz Bearcat_. She knew it wouldn't be long before her husband came around to her way of thinking, so she didn't suppress her smirk and instead ignored Henry’s eye role.

 

     What Henry Fail was thinking was that absolutely nothing of note had ever happened to him in a car. He was about to remark as much to his wife, Talia, when, unnoticed to the bickering couple, to their left, the overcrowded _Eastland_ strained against its moorings as the white picnic-dressed passengers raced to the waterside edge of the ship. An amateur canoe race was amaturely canoeing by, and the picnickers wished to wave them good luck, waving their arms ecstatically. All at once, the weight of the women in white became too much for the top-heavy _Eastland_ , and:

 

_SNAP!_

 

     It broke free of its holdings and toppled side first into the Great Chicago River, taking all of its picnickers with it.

 

     Henry and Talia Fail, rattling by on South Water Street, were each about to remark to the other about the Brand New _Stutz Bearcat_ when the _Eastland_ rolled over and died.

 

     Talia cried, “Henry, look out!” and he did, swerving the brand new South Water Rattling, Ohio Street Beach-bound _Stutz Bearcat_ right off the road and into the concrete feet of the Old Chicago Board of Trade, destroying the building’s façade, and upsetting-- _but not dislodging_ —the overhead bust of Dr. Ian K. Bonner, father of Illinoisan Psychiatry.

 

     In shock from the collision, Mother Fail, now grasping her husband's arm with all her might, cried again, “Henry! Henry!" The smoke-filled summer air struggled with sounds of drowning and crooning and dresses and dying. Henry Fail grabbed at the clutch. It came off in his hand. He stomped on the brake. The Bearcat slid backward, skidded into the street. He laid on his horn. It was useless. 

 

     “Henry, look out!”

 

     The car tumbled over the hemp rope barricades nearing the river’s edge. Henry, in those last few seconds, looked at his wife, taking her hand in his. 

 

     Before either Fail realized what had hit them, The Chicago River did.

 

     Nearly 850 people on-board the ill-fated _Eastland_ , along with Henry and Talia Fail and their brand new _Stutz Bearcat_ , sank deep, deep into the Chicago River that morning. It was the same river into which, at that very moment, their middlest child,  Cora Claire Fail, was diving.

 

_“Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you.”_

 

     So, to suggest that death had not played a very prominent role in the Fail Family Saga before the year of the Fail siblings’ deaths would be absolute applesauce.

 

     Talia Fail had not always been a Fail. She started out a Natalia Peabody Failbottom, of the Nelson-Peabody Failbottoms. She first met her future husband, and cousin by marriage, Heiner Failbottom, when she was thirteen years old at a dog derby, in a land their eldest child, Derek, only ever heard them refer to as “The Old Country”. By fourteen, Natalia and Heiner were betrothed, by fifteen they were wed, and by sixteen, the newly married cousins were on a boat bound for America.

 

     At this point, their oddest daughter, Malia N, would like to state, in the interest of historical context, that the marrying of cousins or, for that matter, distant siblings, was not an uncommon practice. In fact, it occurred with some frequency. Take for example, Mr. and Mrs. H.G. Wells, and, lest it seem too outdated for modern tastes, please be reminded that the joining in holy matrimony of first cousins is still legal in thirty-one of the now fifty United States. And Guam.

 

     Upon entering the United States, first order of business for Heiner and Natalia Failbottom was to have their bottoms chopped off  by an overzealous Ellis Island desk clerk. Once bottom-less, Henry and Talia Fail were free to enter the streets of New York City, teeming with immigrants, opportunity and lice.

 

      Mr. and Mrs. Fail came to the States with nothing to their name except for one time honored skill, which had been the primary trade of the Failbottoms (on both sides), for over a hundred years: Clockworking.

 

     Since time was of the essence, Henry Fail decided they must settle down somewhere in need of a solid Clockworks Shop. So, in exchange for resetting the pocket watch of a tug boat captain in Queens Village, they were tugged all the way to Toronto, where they revived the marine chronometer in the Captain’s quarters of a freighter headed for Superior. Once there, an offer to realign the grooves on a rickety paddle boat brought them safe passage down the Mississippi where the gift of a perfect-fit quartz to the daughter of a river-barge operator admitted them to the Chicago River, straight to the corner of Lumber and Love.

 

     At first sight of the two story rickety wooden structure, secluded from the rest of the bustling shops and businesses, Talia knew the building was theirs. Indeed, it quickly became the Fail Family home and Clock Shop. Having floated halfway around the world, then halfway across the continent, Henry cut the plank, and Marietta painted the letters for the sign above the door, all the while laughing and dancing with the music that drifted down from the street.

 

_“I can’t give you anything but love, Baby._

_That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby_  
Dream awhile, scheme awhile  
you're sure to find  
Happiness, and I guess  
All those things you've always pined for  
  
Gee, I'd like to see you looking swell, baby  
Diamond bracelets, Woolworth's doesn't sell, baby  
Until that lucky day, you know darn well, baby  
I can't give you anything but Love.”

     As the sun faded at the end of their long day, they took a moment to admire their hard work. It read, “ _Fail Clock Works, Est. 1900:  Open._ ”

 

     In the span of a year, Mr. and Mrs. Fail had gone from Heiner and Natalia to Henry and Talia and finally to Mother and Father. Their first child, Derek Zachary Fail, was born in the creaky upstairs bedroom on Lumber and Love at the very front of 1900. The Fails were a family, and they were in business.

 

     “ _The Fail Clock Works Est. 1900: Open_ ” was a roaring success. Situated, as it was, near the Chicago dockyards, tardy men were forever stopping in for a tune-up, usually requiring nothing more than a winding and a reminder to do so with regularity. “The Wind and Remind”, as Henry called it, “Penny a turn." Always prompt and orderly, Henry’s clocks gained a reputation in the industrious city: word on the street was, “A Fail Clock is a working clock,” and everyone HAD to have one. It wasn’t long before Talia joined him in the shop, picking up every piece Henry fixed and inspecting it for herself…just in case.

 

     As a toddler, Derek Fail spent his days with nothing but time on his hands, time in all shapes and sizes: tea timers, two timers, and time tuners, too. He loved to sit at the feet of the Grandfather Clock, press his ear against its great glass stomach, and listen to the steady oscillation of its guts. His favorite game was a sort of “Toss the Cogs” which made good use of the discarded parts on the end-of-day shoproom floor.

 

     Though the Fails could not provide much for their young Derek, they gave him all the time he wanted, and more, which is why, at the funeral for the youngest Fail girl, Laura Fail, there was a small uncomfortable laughter from the crowd, when her parents were described as “The _Late_ Mr. and Mrs. Henry Fail.” Surrounded by so many clocks, the Fails had never been late for anything. Ever. Which is also why, on the day of her very first diving competition, the middlest Fail child, Cora Claire, did not understand why she couldn't find the proud faces of her parents in the crowd.

 

      “Surely they can’t be _late_!” She questioned, pacing back and forth at her starting block minutes before the competition. She took second place in that diving contest, by the way.  Extremely proud of her red ribbon, the photographs from the event show two slippery boys perched on graduated wooden blocks, and one gangly girl in an ill-fitted swim cap squinting into the crowd for signs of her parents. First place went to a Northside German boy named Johnny Weissmuler.

 

     It was on that day that Jenny June Fail decided both the sport and the sportsman she would spend the rest of her life attempting to conquer. A life which began, incidentally, in the creaky upstairs bedroom on Lumber and Love in 1907. Her older brother, a then six year old Derek Fail, was not pleased. He placed a customer’s broken kitchen clock in his new sister’s crib. The problem with the clock: it ran in reverse. When Talia discovered it later that evening, Derek was roundly scolded.

 

     Unlike Derek, who spent every hour indoors, except when he went running along the river bank, Cora Claire Fail was an immediate water bug. She took to the nearby river like a cog to a wheel, much to the chagrin of her mother, Talia. The River was --how should it be put?—disgusting.

 

     But Cora Claire never paid any mind. She dove right in among the hog guts and grease cups and never a day was she sick. As a young girl of the river, Cora Claire felt a certain connection to the city that somehow only her father understood. Henry knew what it meant to know a city from the water up.  He understood his daughter’s need to pump herself through the veins of a place and so he encouraged her river endeavors, despite Henry and Talia’s constant argument over it. Talia usually lost to Henry, but she was quick to remind her eldest child, Derek, that Cora’s past time was not _becoming_ a young lady. Derek and Cora Claire did not get along.

 

     Thank heaven, then, for the arrival of the youngest Fail girl, Lauriella Elisabeth Fail (Laura for short). Laura, though, was not short, not in any way. She was long and lean and, even as a child, full of energy and listening and laughter. Her first word was “Yes” and her second was “Hooray!” As a baby she was all laughter, every hour, on the hour. Henry Fail would set his baby daughter on the floor of the shop and wait for the hundreds of clocks to clang out the time. Little Laura’s face would light up and her riotous giggle could be heard even above the din of the clock chorus. Neither Laura nor her family ever tired of this.

 

     Laura united the affections of the Fail Family so unanimously that none could imagine a happier family.

     

     But in 1910, Talia Fail gave birth to a dead child she would have named David, and nobody knew quite what to say.

 

_“Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you._

_Let me hear you whisper that you love me too_

_Keep the love-light glowing in your eyes so true._

_Let me call you Sweetheart, I’m in love with you.”_

     They buried the little boy in the North Avenue Cemetery on a tiny hill with a view of the water. They never spoke of him again, but once a year, on the anniversary of his birth and death, Henry Fail would take a watch and a sandwich and spend the day at his late son’s grave.

 

     Talia Fail was never the same after that.  She was quiet, listless. Everything she did, she did through a cloud of sadness. Time became a torment to her. She left broken clocks unfixed, preferring the ones that refused to tick. When customers came to retrieve them, Derek quietly apologized and promised to fix them himself. Talia sat in her room, in her bed, watching the hands of the coo-coo clock spin.

 

     It was during this time that the Fail siblings cranked into gear. Derek kept the Fail Clock Works in motion, becoming more and more his father’s child. He cut his teeth on cutting teeth. He discovered a method to replace a broken mainspring without removing the arbor from the barrel and the proper way to lubricate the pivot seats on the movement plates. He became, in time, an expert, in time.

 

     Cora Claire set aside her daily river swims to redirect her attentions toward Laura. It was Cora Claire who witnessed Laura’s first steps and promptly ran in to announce to her father and Derek at the workbench that, “Laura’s almost ready to swim!” It was one of the happier moments that year.

 

Time went by like this for a while. 

 

“ _Where did the time go_

_Does anyone know_

_When we were having fun?_

_Why must the hands tick_

_by on the clock_

_Just like they’re not_

_Ever gonna stop?_

_Where is the day_

_We used to make hay_

_All the day long in the sun?_

_The stubborn hour hand says Time to go._

_I swear it wasn’t there an hour ago._

_Where did the time go?_

_Does anyone know?_

_When were having fun?”_

 

     One day, a minute before noon on a weekday, with Talia Fail cloistered in the upstairs bedroom, Derek was helping her father polish the crystal of a newly restored LeRoy Pocket piece. Cora Claire was playing “I’m going to eat your head” with her baby sister, Laura. All the clocks struck twelve.

 

_"Bong! Bong! Bong!"_

 

    _"Ba-ding!  Ba-ding!"_

_"CLANG!"_

_"Ring Ring Ring!"_

_"Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo! COO-CO---"_

 

    _CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!_

     At the unexpected sound, Henry Fail dashed up the staircase so quickly that he dropped the LeRoy into Derek’s shaking hands. In moments, he threw open his bedroom door. There was Talia Fail, in her dressing gown, hair and ribbons akimbo, pointing accusatorily at the new, jagged hole in their window.

 

     "I won’t take it anymore!” She screamed. “I won’t listen to that damned thing mock me!”

 

     It was Cora Claire Fail, her sister Laura on her hip, who crept out of the shop and beneath the “ _Fail Clock Works Est. 1900: Open”_ , to find the guilty Coo-coo clock,  its springs and movements splayed across Lumber and Love.  The dead Coo-coo bird hung limp from the tiny shutters like the lazy tongue of a dead dog.

 

     Cora Claire looked back toward her parents’ bedroom window, where she saw a hole in the glass and two adults wrestling standing up. She swore she could hear her mom crying, but the sounds of the tears were too small to belong to her mother.  She looked behind her. Nothing. She crossed over Lumber and Love. Her parents behind and above her struggled for understanding. Derek stood in the front door, still holding the half-polished LeRoy and looking to see if anyone else had witnessed the murder of the Coo-coo clock.

 

     When Cora Claire ducked beneath the rope dividing the road from the river bank, she found a wicker bread basket, dirty from the water, and a baby, wet, hungry, and fussy. When the baby saw Jenny June’s face it screamed with all its tiny might and Nelly giggled.

 

     It was a girl. In one fist was a small river snake that seemed neither threatened nor threatening. In the other hand, a scrap of wood bearing a message written in coal: “I loved her best I could.” and a name: Malia N.

 

     The Fail Family now had their fourth child…and a snake.

 

     Talia Fail’s recovery was quick and born of necessity. The family raised the young Malia N. as if she was their own. Indeed, to them, she was, but Malia was slow to blossom in the Fail home, and sometimes, she wondered if  she really was family, just like all her other "siblings". She never went by Fail.

 

     Always a bit uncomfortable with the bells and whistles of the workshop, Malia preferred instead to be outside with the birds and river rats or watching her sister Cora Claire spring in and out of the same black tar waters  which had delivered him to the Fail Family home.

     

     A lover of all things fauna, Malia N. was forever bringing home new “animal friends.” Henry and Talia Fail did their best to accommodate as many of these as they could, but Talia _absolutely_ put her foot down when it came to rats. It was such a shame, considering the plentiful supply of homeless _rodentia_ from the oh-so-near riverbank.

 

     As young Malia N. grew bigger and healthier, so did the snake which they had found in her grasp. After one very necessary trip to the library, Gerty Fail learned it wasn’t a river snake at all, but a baby ball python; a non-venomous but, all the same, deadly constrictor native to the wilds of Africa. Hm.

 

     As the snake grew larger and hungrier, the local rat population became less and less of an issue.

 

    And so, time soldiered on. As the nation nears the end of the “Era of Wonderful Nonsense,” so ill-prepared to face the uncertainty of the 1930’s, the Fail children still live in the rickety two story,  _“Fail Clock Works Est. 1900: Open_ ”, on Lumber and Love. But they are no longer children.

 

     Derek Fail has taken up where his parents left off, keeping Chicago’s clocks and his family’s shop running.

 

     At the ripe old age of 22, Cora Claire Fail has devoted herself to Competitive Lake Swimming, just like Johnny Weismuller.

 

     A very beautiful 20 year old Laura Fail seeks only the simple joys of days amongst friends and family and nights filled with jazz and jitterbugging.

 

     At an indeterminate age, the studious Malia N. busies herself pursuing an education in the veterinary sciences; though, nobody understands what exactly she plans to _do_ with that.

 

     It is February, 1928. And it is the last year of each of the Fail siblings’ lives.


	2. Chapter 2

     On this particular February 5th, the Fail Clock Shop was in perfect order, the clocks ticking away, restless and conversing as the work day was drawing to a close. The large wooden wall clock always clanged the loudest, anxious for the end of the day.

 

     “Tick-tock. Tick-tock . . . . Pssst.  Tick-tock!” Its hands twitched, begging to get it over with. The small metal counter clock, on the other hand, knew when to be patient.

 

     “Tock-tick. Tock-tick.” It responded steadily.

 

     “Tick-tick _tock_.”

 

     The counter clock pondered in return. “Tick Tock?”

 

_"Tock!”_

 

     “Gong! Gong!”  Both clocks quieted for a moment in their agitation. The Grandfather clock could be quite scary.

 

     “Ooo-ooo! Ooo-ooo! Ooo-ooo! Whirrrrrrriiiirrrrrriiirrrrrrrr!” No clock, though, knew quite what to say to the ornate Coo-coo-esque clock in the display window behind the counter. Therefore, they all heard his approaching footsteps from the back room, and tried to calm each other down in anticipation.

 

     “Wttttttttttrrrrrrrtrtrtrtr!”

 

     “Chlick! Chlick! Chlick!”

 

     “Gong! Gong!”

 

     This is when Derek Fail entered the main floor of the clock shop from the back room. He stopped, boots clunking heavily on the floor, and looked around at the clocks chirping wildly, not yet noticing him. In reaction, he pointedly cleared his throat.

 

     “Ahem.” They greeted him merrily.

 

     “Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick...” When suddenly-

 

     “Gnnnrrrrnnn TING!”  Derek frowned, glancing at the wall clock confusedly.

 

     “Quarter to Five?  Already?” he mumbled.

 

     “Tick.”

 

      Derek shrugged, figuring it had been a long day, and, well, you can’t argue with time. He went on his way, carefully patting the wall clock with a soft, “If you say so.” As Derek approached his work counter, ready to finish filling out the books before locking up shop, the front door chimed ( _Bading-ding_ ) and in walked the man who would change Derek Fail’s life.

 

     He was a tall man, lean (just like Laura), and had a turn-up to his nose that only spelled out trouble. Before entering, the man poked his head through the door, eyes widening comically at the rather large display of various clocks. When he deemed the establishment satisfactory, the man strolled through the entrance, stopping abruptly, though, as he realized that there was a quite large man, eyes dark and eyebrows angry, behind the lopsided counter across the room. This, however, after a few secinds of recovery, didn’t seem to deter the mystery customer. “Good afternoon!” He sang as he gave a small wave.

 

     Derek Hale was not pleased. He looked down at the messy counter, grunting, “Good _evening_ ,” before deciding to absolutely ignore the man until kicking him out 5’oclock on the nose. The man, however, did not catch on. He slowly started encircling the clock shop, letting fingers trail over patterns and eyes peer into glass cases. Worse, he attempted to continue the conversation

 

     “Is it evening?” The man questioned. “I swear, I have a devil of a time with … well, time.” He then proceeded to flash Derek with an atrociously charming smile. Derek didn't even deign to look up from his books.

 

     “Then you’ve come to the right place.” He mumbled, not at all paying attention. He missed the man’s leer.

 

     “Say, you’re right.  Mind if I have a...looksie?”

 

     “...Please.”

 

     Derek didn’t understand what was so interesting to look at behind the counter, as the only clock in the display case there, which the man, assumingly, was watching very intently, was the odd Coo-coo-like clock, which, at that moment, let out a whistle that sounded suspiciously like the cat-calls Laura got when she walked home after dark. Derek spun around, deciding once and for all it was time for _all customers_ to leave.

 

     “Anything in particular I can help you with?”

 

     The man’s eyes shot up (from the ground?) and redness splattered his cheeks, but he pasted on a grin and declared, “Oh, I don’t need any help,” and then continuing on with his leisurely circling of the shop. Derek persisted.

 

     “Are you looking for something?”

 

      “Nothing at all. I have everything I need.” The man flashed another bright smile. Derek certainly saw this one. The Coo-coo clock whistled again and Derek scowled in frustration, now the one with red climbing his face.

 

     “Then,” he gritted out, “may I remind you we close at five o’clock?  On the nose?”

 

     “Oh?” The man was totally nonchalant. “What time is it now?”

 

     “ _Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…”_

     Derek stormed back to his counter in a huff. “Please let me know if I can be of any _use_ to you.” The music from down the street drifted through the open window.

 

_“I don’t need anyone. All I need is you._

_I’m not looking for someone.  Now I’ve found you._

_If I say that I’m lonely, it’s only half true._

_I’m only lonely for you."_

     For once, Derek Fail was not happy having the shop open, having this man wander around like he owns the place, but as it was not yet five, and the man had gone silent, Derek was able to lose himself in his books and calculations. Until-

 

     “Nice place you got here.” A shadow loomed over his work space. Derek refused to look up, but he couldn't help answering.

 

     “I know. It’s my place.”

 

     “You don’t say?  The whole place belongs to you?” The hand on the counter inched closer to Derek’s own working ones.

 

     “To our family, yes.” The hand quickly inched back, away.

 

     “ _Oh_ , there’s a, there’s a _Mrs. Fail_.” The man’s voice held unexplainable disappointment.

 

     “Yes. My mother.”

 

     “Ah, swell!”

 

     “She’s dead.” The hand promptly flew off the table all together. Derek looked up to see the man awkwardly scratching his neck, shoulders hunched self-consciously. “Gee, I’m sorry.” Derek sighed,  completely fed up with the whole situation…and polite service.

 

     “May I ask what you are doing in a clock shop?” The man blinked.

 

     “I’m sorry?”

 

     “We only sell one thing, and from the looks of you, it’s the one thing you’ve already got.”

 

      The man backed away a bit, uncomfortable with Derek’s approach. “Oh?  What’ve I got?” He tried sassing. Derek just huffed.

 

     “Time. Time on your hands; time on your side.  Time.”   

 

     “Darned if you don’t got me figured out already, don’t ya?”

 

    “Let’s see if I can nail this down. May I?” Derek stepped up to the man, looked him right in the eyes, waited for the slight jerk of his head, and then, Derek smiled like a shark and started circling, looking the man up and down.

 

     “You don’t come from money, but you’ve never wanted for much, either. You tried your luck with the ponies, card games and crapshoots, but you played clean. You’re not one of Al’s boys,” Derek ran his fingers down the man’s neck before taking his left hand, pretending not to notice the spattering of moles or the gulping of breath.

 

     “There are too many rings around your collar and not enough on your fingers.” He mused. The man snatched his hand back.“You took what you made at the races and bought into the market. Let me guess. G.E.?  Sears Roebuck?” The man’s eyes flickered away guiltily. Derek snorted.

 

     “Right. Anything with two words in the title and a million men on the floor.  You made a small fortune, and you used that to make a big fortune. Now you can’t stop investing. You’re infected with investments.  Everything you ever suspected you might want is already yours.”  Derek stepped even closer, entrapped in the moment.

 

     “You’re a millionaire.” Poke.

 

     “You’re walking on air” Poke.

 

     “And you’re bored.” Poke. The man stepped away rubbing at his chest. Though Derek did not mean it, he looked even smaller, broad shoulders hunched further within.

 

     “Gee.” The word hung in the air. Derek started walking back to his counter, figuring the matter done.

 

     “Men like you don’t have any respect for time.  Especially other people’s. I bet you don’t even own a watch.” Therefore, Derek was utterly shocked when he heard the rustling of fabric and looked back to see the man holding up a gorgeously patterned, albeit a bit scratched up, golden pocket watch. He couldn’t help feeling a little sheepish now. “How did I do with the rest of it?” Thankfully, the man smiled.

 

     “I’m not a millionaire.” He paused. “Yet.  But the rest is pretty right on. How’d you do that?” The man squinted in distrust. “Say, you ain’t one of them gypsy mind readers, are ya?”

 

     “I’m a Virgo. We don’t believe in astrology.” The man chuckled a bit, taking Derek's comment as his cue to sidle up to the counter once more, though this time, less aggressively. 

 

     “The name’s Stiles.” The man introduced himself.

           

     “Stiles? Where on earth did that come from?"

 

     “It’s what my friends call me. My real name’s…a bit of a mouthful, honestly.”

           

     “What is it? Your real name?” Stiles had his common clever remark prepared on his tongue, but this time, he didn't have the heart to lie, with such clear green eyes staring directly at him, _boring_ into him.

 

     “Ah, gee. It’s…Mortimer.”

 

     “…Mortimer.”

           

     “Yes sir-ee.”

           

     “ _Mortimer?_ Is that your first name, or your family name?”

           

     “Both.”

           

     “Your real name is _Mortimer_ _Mortimer_?” Derek snorted. “I’ve never met a man so successful he’s named after himself.” Stiles just sighed.

           

     “ _Please_ , just call me Stiles…and you would be?”

           

     At that moment, Derek Fail made a life changing decision. He stepped out from behind the counter, held out his hand, and shook firmly when Stiles returned the gesture. He eternally smirked when he watched Stiles flinch.

           

     “Derek Fail.”  Stiles lit up at the information.

           

     “Can I actually call ya Derek?”

           

     “No.” He glanced down at the watch still wrapped around Stiles spindly fingers. “That’s a nice time piece. May I?” Derek was already unwinding the chain and gliding towards the window before he finished the question.”

           

     “No, be my guest.” Stiles muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets and he was completely ignored. “It’s been in the family for ages. Who knows how many Mortimers it’s ticked off.” Stiles laughed at his own joke. Derek, though, was still completely enthralled with the watch. He held it up to the light, watching the fading sun beams bounce off of it.

           

     “It’s beautiful.” Derek murmured. Stiles took the chance to slide up behind him, now pondering as he too glanced at the watch dancing in the light.

           

     “You know, now that I think of it, I’m hoping to have it engraved. As a gift. Do you do that sort of thing?”

           

     “My sister does. She has an eye for penmanship.”

           

     “Then I can’t wait to meet your sister, Der-“ Derek turned around and scowled. “-Mr. Fail." Stiles attempted recovering. Derek was not impressed. He was, however, surprised to find how close they had gotten. He quickly moved back to the counter, opening up the order book.

           

     “You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. She’s out at the moment, but I can take down your message and see that she gets right to work on it. What would you like it to read?”

 

     “Will you marry me?”

 

     “ _Boy yoy yoy yoy yoing!”_ A spring from the wall clock burst out. Derek looked up, eyebrows in his hair line. Stiles eyes widened in understanding.

 

     “ _I’d like it to read_ , ‘Will you marry me?’ You see, I don’t have everything.” Derek’s gaze met Stiles’ from across the room. “Yet.”  Derek swiftly looked back down, clearing his throat, keeping his face blank.

 

     “If I may…the sentiment might be all the sweeter if you included the young lady’s name.” Stiles walked closer, closing the distance.

 

     “That’s the trouble, Mr. Fail.  I don’t know the person’s name. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t know where they live. In fact, I’ve never even met them.” Derek carefully kept his head down and his voice neutral.

 

     “In that case, good luck.” Stiles sighed then, retreating, clapping Derek on the back.

 

     “Yeah, thanks’ anyways. I guess I need it.” He went to take back his watch, when suddenly Derek snatched it away from the edge of the counter. His green gaze looked up defiantly.

 

     “You’ll need more than a watch, that’s for sure.”

 

     “I know they’re _out_ there...I just don’t know anything else.”

 

     “Yes, that’s clear.” Derek’s voice raised in annoyance as Stiles’ hands flapped around in, what some would assume, an attempt at explaining himself.

 

     “It’s not as bonkers as all that.” He tried reasoning. “Why? Do you know the name of the man you’re gonna marry?” Derek cleanly raised one eyebrow.

           

     “I’m not getting married.” He enunciated, enjoying Stiles’ comical bug-eyes in response.

 

      “What! Never?” At this, Derek glowered.

           

      “Well, how should I know?”

           

     “But you want to be married?” Stiles leaned across the counter, horrified at the notion Derek, er, _Mr. Fail_ might not. _Mr. Fail_ , on the other hand, was quite sick of the entire conversation and stood up abruptly.

           

     “Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. Either way, it’s no business of yours.” He growled.

           

     “You don’t want to become an old spinster do ya?”

           

     “I hardly think that growing old while remaining unmarried qualifies one as a spinster.”

           

     “You might wanna consult a dictionary.”

           

     “Mr. Mortimer! I’m trying to be cordial, but I find your conversation tedious and invasive.” Derek’s voice made the clocks shudder. Stiles, however, wasn’t having it.

           

     “Gee, you’ll never catch a fella with that attitude.”

           

     “I’m not trying to catch a fella!”

           

     “Good, you’re not catching one!”

           

     They were in each other faces, chests rising as the volume of their words did as well. The room was silent expect for the ticking of the clocks. Suddenly, Derek, in all his pent up anger, grabbed Stiles by his ringed collar and began dragging him to the front door. Stiles was apparently heavier than he looked, but Derek was still able to fling him in the right direction.

           

     “I would _like_ to close up shop at five o’clock on the nose!” Derek practically shouted, his voice strong as Stiles found his balance, standing up straight. “If there is _nothing else you want –_ “

 

     “You know what I want, Mr.-not-Derek Fail.” Stiles’ eyes were bright; his voice shockingly low and steady. Somehow, they were facing each other again. “It’s what every guy with a ring around his collar instead of his finger wants.  Tell me, will I find what I’m looking for here?” As the two men stared, taking in everything, the clocks answered for them.

 

     “ _Tickticktickticktickticktickticktick_ ”

           

     Derek pulled away, muttering to himself, his cheeks flaming. “I can have it for you tomorrow.” He quickly pivoted on his foot and headed for the back room. Stiles leaped after him in surprise.

 

     “The watch…or the…?” Stiles could see Derek literally throw up his hands.

           

     “The watch, Mr. Stiles! I couldn’t begin to help you with the other matter!” The back room door slammed behind him.

           

     “Okie Dokie.” Stiles muttered. He swore the Grandfather clock tsked at him, (Tisck Tisck Tock), but it was probably just the wind.

           

     Stiles Mortimer had never been in a clock shop before. In fact, it was rare that he found himself in any shop. If a transaction didn’t require a fitting or a negotiating, he preferred to have one of his people conduct it; but staring at his own face in the face of an 18th century Swiss Quarter Chiming Mantel Clock, he thought to himself,

 

     “Perhaps I should get out more”

 

     The tick tick ticking of the many, busy instruments reminded him of the reassuring run of a ticker tape bringing him news of success after success. The numbers on the faces of everyone in the room reminded him of the numbers on the minds of most of his Yes Men.

     

     "Yes. Yes,” thought Stiles, he could feel very much at home in a place like this.  This is a place where he could succeed. “Hey, tell your sister she can take her time with that watch, won’t ya?” Stiles called back, suddenly drained by the day’s events. “I doubt I’ll meet the person of my dreams before tomorrow.”

 

     And that’s when Laura Fail walked through the front door.

 

_Bading-ding_

 

     She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily based on the play Failure: A Love Story by Philip Dawkins  
> By that, I mean it's the exact same story with literal chunks of dialogue and lines slightly re-edited to fit paper, not a stage. So, the genius writing goes to him.  
> All mistakes are my own, this is un-beta-ed.


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